Suzanne Portnoy

Men are so weird. Men are so weird. Men are so absolutely bloody weird. OK, picture this scenario.

I was eating at the same hotel restaurant where I’ve conducted all my previous auditions. This time the waitress sat us at a banquette at the far end of the room, behind a pillar. Plenty of space for four but we were only two so I thought I’d get cosy with my date and sat in the middle of the seat. He was my type that everyone should know by now so hardly worth repeating but I will anyway - tall, slim, close cut haircut, high cheekbones.

Back when I moved to this country in the mid-seventies, I used to call these guys ‘refined.’ Refined guys don’t resemble so many other English guys that American comedian Doug Stanhope once so perfectly described by saying that they look like they have been squashed into a box and then the box has been taken away but the shape has remained the same. Think of the kind of men that appear in almost every Merchant Ivory movie and you’ve got my type.

I was sitting in the middle of the banquette and the guy that was buying me lunch was seated next to me, four feet away. He was at the far end of the banquette and as the meal progressed, he got farther and farther away from me until by the time the coffee arrived, I thought he might actually fall off his seat. If ever there was an indication that this man was not interested in taking our relationship to another level, his refusal to move closer to me was it.  At one point I thought I might have to shout for him to hear me. Seriously, all I could think was that this man doesn’t fancy me at all and pretty soon he was going to fall off the banquette and I was going to have no choice but to laugh if that happened and that would have been fine. I could always use a laugh. I was planning on going back to work after lunch. I wasn’t really that horny having had a very nice orgasm the previous night whilst thinking about a big Scottish guy who had sent me a picture and then a number of texts relating to his super enormous penis.  That and the foursome I had on Saturday night had set me up for a week of celibacy.

The meal finished, my date ordered a coffee as soon as the plates were removed. Then he ordered the bill straight after that. Now I felt like we were in a race to see how quickly we could get through lunch. If I’d eaten faster I reckon we could have done the whole thing in 30 minutes.

We grabbed our coats and walked out the door and then he asked if I minded showing him a street market nearby that I’d mentioned. I was planning on going there so we walked together and that’s when he popped the question, ‘So, want to get a room?’

‘I’ve got to go back to work,’ I said, quite stunned. Normally I’m so good at reading the signals but his body language had thrown me. Aren’t two people that like each other supposed to get closer together as they communicate, not farther apart? Was I wrong to expect that at some point during our meal he might have made some attempt to touch me? Maybe Swiss men don’t behave like British guys, I thought. I felt the words come out of my mouth before I realised what I had said, ‘How about next week?’

I figured that seven days gave me enough excuse time for him to forget about me or for me to pretend that I’d fallen in love or invent some terrible emergency or lose my phone. Normally I would have just been honest and said, ‘Actually, thanks for lunch but I’m just not feeling anything and I didn’t think you were either,’ but I think I was just too stunned by his approach. For once, I was completely and absolutely speechless. The next thing I knew he had grabbed a cab, managing to just about kiss my lips before he jumped in it. Men are so weird. They really are.

I love handbag sized vibrators and over the year I’ve had my share of them. From vibes that looked like a lipstick but contained a small, bullet vibe to the Pocket Rocket to the Fun Factory Layaspot. The best handbag vibe should be powerful enough to get a woman off in minutes and inconspicuous in its size and shape not to resemble a minature penis. No woman wants her handbag accidentally falling open to reveal a vibrating cock inside. Actually, I’m a great believer in vibrators that are anatomically designed to give the maximum pleasure and not penis replacements. I’d rather have a real dick inside me than a rubber one.

Receiving packages in the post is always fun and even more so when there’s a beautiful, minature vibe such as the Lelo Mia inside. I love Lelo sex toys for their beauty, ease of use and powerful vibrations and the Mia is a great addition to the range.  Made in a hard plastic, it’s really only suitable for clitoral stimulation which suits me as I don’t like penetrative toys. Even better, it plugs into the USB port in my Mac and even though the instructions say that it charges up in an hour, it seemed to take much less time.

I’ll be honest, it took me a while to get used to the Mia’s vibrations after using the Lelo Gigi for so long. I’m sure they both have the same motor or similar motors but I prefer the flat head of the Gigi for its accuracy and for the way it feels on my clit. But the Gigi isn’t an any time, any place, anywhere kind of sex toy. It’s too big and bulky. The Mia is such an un sex toy looking sex toy that when I showed it to some folks in my office, they just thought it was a new kind of flash drive.

Unfortunately, as my readers will know, I lost my Mia in my rush to get out of a hotel room by check out time.  Still, for the short time I had it, I did enjoy it. It’s a bit more expensive than the other pocket toys on the market but worth the extra spend. Go on, treat yourself.